Turning Point
by tanith
Summary: Tabula Rasa-verse AU origin story. The death and rebirth of Randy Giles.
1. Part One

TITLE: Turning Point 1/2

AUTHOR: tanith

RATING: PG-13 - Violence and one naughty word.

SUMMARY: Tabula Rasa-Verse AU origin story. The death and rebirth of Randy Giles.

ARCHIVE: It's all yours, just let me know.

FEEDBACK: How do I say, "yes, pleeeeease!" without looking desperate? Oh. Too late. akirgo@yahoo.com

SPOILERS: Tabula Rasa, obviously. Otherwise AU-y.

DISCLAIMER: Can't I have them? They're not even the real versions of the characters. C'mon, Joss!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started writing this about a week after Tabula Rasa aired, and it's taken me this long to finish it. This ought to give you an idea of how...slow...I...really...am. Hope it's still fun, all these months later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I am *so* not in the mood for this tonight," Joan whined.

The sun was sliding down past the horizon, and for Joan and her gang, that meant only one thing: slay time. Only tonight, the gang seemed to have other plans. And Joan, still recovering from a previous slay-related injury and a geometry test, was not in a temperament that made her eager to go patrolling alone.

"I'm so sorry, Joan," her friend Willow said. "But Alex has got a huge chem test tomorrow, and if I don't help him study..."

"...I'll flunk back to junior high," Alex finished.

Joan sighed. "I know. I'm sorry you guys, I know it's not really your job. I'm just in bad need of company tonight. Or at the very least, someone to complain at."

"I could come, if you like."

Three heads turned to look over Joan's Watcher's son, who was currently emulating his father by burying his nose in a large, dusty book. Randy looked up when he felt their eyes on him. "What? It's not like I've never patrolled before."

"Yes," Joan said patiently, "but you *hate* patrolling."

Randy rolled his eyes. "Oh, and you're just so keen on it."

"Well, if you want to come, I'd appreciate it. But no lectures on ancient Sumerian texts, okay?"

Randy got to his feet, gesturing at himself in mock surprise. "Moi?"

"That means me?' in French, Joan," Willow said wryly.

"Thanks for clearing that up. You coming, Randy?"

"Just a sec." He fiddled with his bootlace. "Alex, you'll tell my dad where I'm at?"

"Sure thing. But hurry back. After I'm done with Willow, I need help with English lit."

Randy's eyes traveled skyward again. "And I thought I was out of high school."

*************

"So he comes into class looking *disturbingly perky* and says, Class, today I'm going to tell you about the oldest profession on earth,' and launches into a forty minute lecture on prostitution...Why are you looking at me like that?"

Randy chuckled. "School has become a lot more interesting in the last four years, it seems." Then he halted. "Wait, is this the same Mr. Noble who said that thing to you about how you can do anything you want up there, as long as you don't take off your clothes' wink wink?" She nodded. "That's it, he's dead."

Laughing, she grabbed his arm as he started to turn away and spun him back around to face her. "Hang on just a minute, Watcher boy. We've got bigger nasties to slay."

He relented at her smile and they started walking again. "Just promise me one thing, okay?" he added after a minute. "If he ever gets attacked by some big ugly, you'll come down with a sudden case of apathy."

Joan grinned. "I'll definitely let it have a nibble."

"Good," Randy said, attempting to slide his hands into his pockets in a leisurely manner. Instead, he found himself reaching for a stake. "No, bad!"

A pair of vampires was advancing upon them, grinning wide enough to make their fangs targets for glinty moonlight. "Slayer..." one of them hissed.

Randy and Joan looked like entrants in the synchronized eye roll competition. "You know, there are other greetings in this world," Randy advised. "Ever thought of how are you doing?' or my, don't you look nice tonight'? A little compliment could go a long way."

"Yes, that way Randy would kill you instead of me."

Disturbingly, the vampires burst into laughter.

Randy looked to Joan. "Are they insulting my fighting prowess or my tendency towards being overprotective?"

"Definitely fighting prowess."

"Oh." He considered this. "Which one were you insulting?"

Randy never got to find out, as the two vampires wisely took advantage of their opponents' momentary distraction and jumped them. Joan knocked her attacker back in less than a second, but Randy found himself sprawled on his butt on the grass and reduced to warding off the vampire with his elbows.

"Think you're funny now, boy?" the vampire snarled.

"I'm not the one who looks like that," Randy pointed out, before the vampire exploded into dust at the business end of Joan's stake.

She helped him to his feet.

"And *this* is why I hate patrolling," he said, brushing off the back of his suit. "I mean, these grass stains are never going to come out." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Plus, I rather...suck."

Joan gave him a friendly pat. "You're not that bad. At least you've got the witty banter side down. And may I say? Wicked sharp elbows."

Randy made a show of inspecting said body part. "These old things? Why...bugger."

"We're certainly popular tonight," Joan remarked, as four more vampires appeared out of the trees.

More fangs flashed in the darkness. One of the vamps, probably the leader, took a step forward. "Randy Giles?" he hissed.

Slayer and Watcher (trainee) exchanged a look. "Aren't you looking for her?" Randy asked.

The vamp grinned. "No," he said simply, and then they were surrounded.

Or rather, Randy was surrounded. The vampires advanced on him, completely ignoring Joan. And suddenly, there weren't just four of them, there were six, eight...all circling Randy and paying the Slayer no mind. Joan found herself fighting a group of completely apathetic and seemingly ever-growing vamps; when she got close, they simply swatted her away; when she staked one, another took its place. And all the while, their eyes remained locked on Randy.

*************

He could no longer see Joan. Terror gripped his chest at the thought; elbows, no matter how wicked, would not be enough to save him here. His brain was screaming out a constant chant of "Why me? Why me?" He swallowed it up before it could escape his lips.

"So, you guys friends of Mr. Noble?" he asked instead. They had formed a ring around him now, yet not one of them had attempted to touch him. He could hear Joan calling his name, faint over the sound of what he was sure was his heart beating its way out of his chest. I'm going to die, he thought. I don't want to die.

The vamp leader's fist connected with his face, swift and sudden, and he went down before the pain even had a chance to register.

*************

Joan felt like she was staking her way through a forest, or fighting a field of corn. She ploughed her way through, making a sea of dust in front of her, but the vampires were like a wall. Occasionally, one would react before her stake had a chance to connect, and she would earn a smack across the jaw or to her stomach for her trouble. Welts and bruises were forming, she knew, but the pain they caused was dulled by the sudden realization that she could no longer hear Randy.

She screamed his name again, momentarily lowering her stake, and in that second, a hand grabbed her. The big vampire, the leader, had her by the wrist. He squeezed and pulled, and she felt the bones in her arm crunch before she was tossed carelessly to the ground.

"Shouldn't we...?" she heard one of the vamps ask.

"No, leave her," the leader said. "We got what we came for. Our lady will be pleased."

She watched through half-swollen eyes as the remaining vampires carried their quarry away, his arms and legs dangling limply at his sides. Once they were gone, it took her several minutes before she could find the strength to get up, but the second she did, she was off and running as if all the denizens of Hell were hot on her heels.

*************

Randy came to lying on the cold cement floor, his mouth wet with his own blood. At least, he hoped it was his own blood. With a groan, he tried to push himself up and shuddered to a shivering, painful halt when he realized he couldn't move his legs. He looked down and saw that his left thigh bone had forced its way up through the skin. His legs were broken. And that's when he really started to panic.

Rough arms that must have noticed that he was awake latched onto him, and he found himself lifted off the floor. Pain shot through him; all he could think about was how dangerous it was to move an injured person. Not only did his captors seem to be oblivious in regards to this particular piece of knowledge, they also appeared to be taking great pleasure in knocking him up against as many corners as possible. Randy prayed that soon one of them would hit him hard enough to knock him out.

Yet he still clung to consciousness when the faceless bodies that were dragging him along drew to a halt and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. There was the sound of movement - the swish of velvet over stone - and then the crack of knuckles against cheek. "Naughty, naughty," a voice half-cooed, half-hissed. There was a groan of pain from above him, and Randy watched as dark, crimson drops rained down on the stone by his face. "You hurt my boy."

Suddenly a coldness gripped him, and Randy realized it was the touch of fingers along his cheek. An icy cold caress. Through his blackened and bruised eyelids, he peered up into a thin, pale face. Recognition washed over him, and he knew that he was going to die. Acceptance of this as fact made him bold.

"You bitch," he croaked. "You can kill me, but Joan will find you. She'll track you down and she'll bloody annihilate you and everyone you with your twisted vamp mind think you care about. She'll..."

She silenced him with a kiss.

The fear hit Randy again like a freight train. Desperately, he tried to push her away, but she grabbed ahold of his weakened wrists and held fast. Her eyes bore into him, inspecting his every inch, claiming him.

"No," he whispered. "Please no."

She smiled. And when her face changed, the smile grew even broader.

*************

Joan knocked down the door with one swift kick, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that raced up her carelessly bound arm. She ran forward into the darkened room, not waiting to see if her friends had caught up with her yet. She had to get to Randy. She had to find him, and stop this nightmare from happening before...

The scene in front of her stopped her dead in her tracks.

Randy was laid out atop a table, both arms and one leg hanging limply over the sides. His blood-covered suit was tattered and torn, but it looked in a state of good repair when compared to his neck. There was a jagged hole where the artery had been. It still seeped blood, half-heartedly, onto the floor.

None of this, however, was what made Joan freeze. The synapses in her brain continued to fire, practically begging her hand to move and reach for a stake, but she was frozen to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Drusilla holding her open vein against Randy's cold lips.

Then everything clicked back into motion as Rupert tore into the room, brandishing a crossbow. When he saw his son's limp body, he didn't pause; there was a click, and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in Drusilla's shoulder. She reared up in pain, hissing theatrically. Joan finally remembered that she had muscles and hoisted her stake, but then Drusilla's arms dropped to her sides, her game face melting away.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she said, her voice small and child-like. "He's supposed to be mine. He was always supposed to be mine..."

"He was never yours," Joan spat. "And he never will be."

She threw the stake, and Drusilla didn't move to stop it from striking her breast. Her dust coated her would-be lover's still and silent form.

Rupert's crossbow clattered to the floor, and he raced to where his son's body lay, Joan tight on his heels. Joan watched her Watcher's stoic face as he took up Randy's wrist, feeling for a pulse; she couldn't bear to look at the body. Rupert remained silent, and his expression didn't change, but after a long, pained moment, he took a step back, letting the wrist fall, and Joan knew. Her vision blurred, a haze falling over her eyes. Some small part of her realized that her mouth was open in a silent scream, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Randy was dead.

There was a clamor from the passageway, and Joan knew that if it were Drusilla's minions, they'd most likely have no trouble finishing her off. Instead, the cavalry arrived, slightly bruised, and for once, too late.

Alex's cheeks were rosy from exertion. "Never fear, we have arrived," he announced proudly, "having triumphed over the scaredy-cat lackeys making a hasty retreat..." He suddenly became aware of his surroundings and trailed off. He swallowed a few times before regaining the ability to speak. "Is that...? He's okay, right?"

Joan looked up at him, vacantly, and Rupert, who had already begun to build his wall, just shook his head.

"Oh, God," Alex said, the stake slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Finding no sign of reassurance in front of him, he turned around and looked to Willow, who was standing still as a statue behind him, as she had been for quite some time, being a bit quicker on the uptake than Alex.

"What do we do?" she asked after a moment. "I mean, we should get him out of here, right?"

Alex started nodding, but stopped when he noticed the icy silence that was coming from Rupert and Joan.

"He's been turned," Rupert said after a moment, no trace of feeling in his voice.

The pit of horror that had settled in Alex's stomach became and abyss. He knew exactly what this meant. It meant that once again, he was going to have to kill a friend.

No! he reminded himself. Not my friend. The thing that killed him.

"Perhaps the rest of you should leave," Rupert said, evenly. The only thing betraying the tempest that was brewing inside of him was the slight shaking of his hands. "This is something, I think, best left for me to do alone."

After a moment's hesitation, both Alex and Willow turned to go. They were stopped dead in their tracks by Joan's commanding voice:

"No."

Three heads turned to look at her. Her eyes were clear again; her lips set into a thin, firm line. On Willow, it could be called her resolve face. On Joan, it clearly stated, "I'm the Slayer. Don't fuck with me."

"No," Joan said again, her confidence growing. "We are not murdering him in cold blood." Rupert opened his mouth to protest, but Joan would not be silenced. Off his look, she said, "And that *is* what it would be. Murder. He hasn't done anything yet. He is still our friend. He is still your son. And maybe we can help him. Maybe a spell, or..." There was a hint of desperation in her voice now. "...Something. But we are not giving up on him yet."

Joan stopped talking and fixed Rupert with a pointed look. Both Willow and Alex stared at him, also, hope plain on their faces. Rupert wanted to feel it too: feel hope, believe that his son could still be saved. He wanted desperately to believe, even though everything in his training told him that such a belief would be foolhardy. His son was already dead. Only...

Rupert looked down at the body, noticing with fascination that the wounds had already begun to close and heal. Where Randy's neck had once been a bloody mess, now only two neat red puncture holes remained. The mark of his sire. Under normal circumstances, Rupert knew that the new vampire would wake into a world dominated by his sire; she would be everything to him: his creator, his teacher, maybe even his lover. But Randy's sire was dead. There was no one to teach him.

Rupert looked at his three young companions, at the expressions of hope masking their grief. Then he looked down at his son's cold, pale skin, which was never again to know warmth or color.

There was no one to teach him.

Except, of course, for them.

Rupert nodded as he came to his decision. "Alex," he instructed, "help me lift him. We need to get him home before the sun rises."

And if it doesn't work out, Rupert reflected as he hoisted his son's body up off the bloody slab, I know how it can be dealt with.

*************

TBC


	2. Part Two

TITLE: Turning Point 2/2

AUTHOR: tanith

Disclaimers, etc. in Part One

*************

When Randy regained consciousness, he was immediately aware of two things: first, that he was hungry; and second, that he was being watched.

With effort, he pushed the former away and chose to concentrate on the latter. He remembered being captured; he remembered Drusilla's twisted smile as she leaned over his broken body. It terrified him to think that he could open his eyes and find himself still her captive.

The pain seemed to have dissipated, however. Perhaps he could escape, or...

Suddenly he became aware that he could hear several people breathing in the room, accompanied by what he would have sworn was the steady beating of their hearts. So. Not vampires. Hope filled him as he first allowed himself to entertain the possibility that he might have been rescued.

Warily, Randy opened his eyes.

The room was dark, but Randy could instantly tell that it was his own. And there in front of him, every detail of her face, every strand of golden hair illuminated in the darkness, was Joan.

He was saved.

"I knew you'd come," he said, surprising himself with how strong his voice sounded.

He reached out a hand to her. She hesitated, her expression unreadable. But then she took him in her arms, crushing him to her breast as she whispered his name over and over again.

"Randy, oh Randy, Randy, Randy..."

His father was beside him now, too. The older man's expression was strangely grim. "How are you feeling?" he asked bluntly.

"Hungry," Randy said, smiling out from between Joan's arms.

Something sharp appeared behind Rupert's eyes. Randy felt as if he had been stabbed. "What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Joan," Rupert said in a warning tone, "perhaps you should give Randy some space."

Randy watched Joan reluctantly draw away from him, and he suddenly felt very cold.

"What happened?" he asked. "Is eveybody okay? How did you find me? How long have I been out?"

Joan looked up at her Watcher, nervously, deferring the questions to him even though Randy's eyes were fixed decidedly on her. Rupert sighed. He took off his glassed and began to polish them. Randy recognized the gesture; it was one that he had inherited. It was not a good sign.

"Everyone else is fine," Rupert said, deciding to start with the good news. "Joan hurt her arm a bit in the initial struggle, but it has already healed."

"Good ol' Slayer strength," Randy said, smiling up at Joan. She did not return his grin.

Rupert ignored his son's comment and continued, but more slowly now. He was coming to the part he didn't want to talk about. He felt crushed by the fact that he had to be the one to give Randy the news. It was terrible, sometimes, having to be the adult.

"We had a pretty good idea where Drusilla had been hiding, so it was not too difficult to find you. Unfortunately," and Rupert forced himself to look his son in his eyes as he said it, "we were too late."

Randy blinked. "What?"

Joan's eyes had a haunted look to them. "We were too late."

Randy looked back and forth between the two of them, at their identical grave expressions, looking for some hint of jest. He found none.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"When I got there," Joan said slowly, "Drusilla..."

And suddenly, Randy knew. He remembered Drusilla leaning over him, remembered the look in her eyes, and he knew. But he could not allow himself to believe it.

"No," he declared, as if saying it could make it so. He glared up at them now, all the warmth gone from his face. "No. Look me in the eyes and tell me...tell me you wouldn't allow that to happen."

The silence was deafening.

Randy began to laugh. Laughing, he put his thumb to his wrist and felt the still and silent vein. "Bring me a mirror," he choked out between further gasps of laughter. Wordlessly, Joan went and retrieved the compact from her purse. She handed it over without touching him, wanting to turn away as he laughed at the mirror's empty surface. But then the laughter turned into tears, and before she was even consciously aware that she had moved, Joan was holding him again. Randy shook against her, still drawing ragged, unneeded breaths as he sobbed. Joan stroked his hair, whispering reassurances that she knew to be lies.

Rupert, who had barely moved a inch since Randy's awakening, continued to stand stock still as he watched this scene transpire in front of him. His son's tears stirred something in him, and he realized it was hope once again rising to the surface. Slowly, Rupert's clenched hands relaxed at his sides. With measured steps, he crossed the few feet to the bed and knelt down at his son's side.

"Randy." He spoke with a father's conviction, his voice soft but steady. "It's going to be all right."

Randy cast his tear-stained face up at Rupert. "Dad?" he said. "I'm scared."

"So am I," Rupert said seriously. "But I promise you: we won't leave you to fight this alone."

Randy nodded. Untangling his hand from Joan's, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. He swallowed and started to take a deep breath before realizing that he didn't need to. He looked nervously down at the floor.

"Um. Remember what I said before about being hungry? Well, it's becoming a bit of a problem."

************

Randy stared down at the mug of blood in his hand. And stared, and stared, and stared.

"So this is cow, is it?" he asked finally.

"Pig." This was Alex, who stood in the corner, hands deep in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. Apparently, his duties as donut and pizza delivery boy had now been expanded to bringing butcher's blood to his now undead friend. Or was that dead unfriend? Alex wasn't sure.

"What do you suppose the difference is?" Randy asked, still eyeing the mug of blood as if it might take a sip of him instead of the other way around.

"You're the vampire. You tell me."

Randy shot a glare in Alex's direction. Since entering the room five minutes before, Alex had managed to mention that he, Randy, was now a vampire nothing short of twelve times. Randy was becoming annoyed.

"Okay. Howzabout we all hold a taste test some--" he started to snark, but was interrupted by a loud growl emanating from his stomach.

Alex fixed him with a pointed stare. "I guess that's your vampire appetite trying to send you a message."

Randy glared at him again, but knew there was no point in arguing. "Right then. So I'm just going to try this now..." He raised the mug to his lips and quickly lowered it again. "Do you think it's better if you warm it up or something?" Randy asked. Even he realized that his stalling was becoming rather desperate.

Alex must have realized it, too. Sighing, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and took a seat next to the bed - just out of Randy's reach, for safety's sake. "You're going to have to taste it eventually, you know."

"I know." Randy ripped his eyes away from the blood and looked at Alex straight on. "It's just that right now, I can pretend. Once I drink this..."

"It's real," Alex finished.

Randy nodded.

Alex pursed his lips. "Would it help if I drank some first?" he suggested.

"No," Randy said, definitively. Then he seemed to reconsider. "It would be amusing, though..."  


Alex held up his hands, as if to ward off any proffered blood in advance. "I take it back! No blood tasting for me."

Randy smirked. "Coward."

"Hey," Alex said. "You're the vampire, and I don't see you tasting it."

Randy's smile faded, the jovial moment passing as quickly as it had come. His eyes returned to the mug still gripped tightly in his hand.

Alex sighed again and scooted his chair a bit closer to the bed. "Seriously, Randy," he said, gently now. "You have to drink it. If you don't, you'll end up all dusty and they'll make me vacuum. I hate vacuuming."

A hint of a smile returned to Randy's face. "How nice to know that you care," he said. Then he grew serious again. "Do you know what scares me the most?"

"What?"

"That I'll enjoy it."

Alex bit his lip. "So what if you do?" he said after a moment. "I like anchovies on my pizza, and in general, nobody holds it against me."

"I promise never to make fun of you about that again," Randy said, and then he downed a big gulp of blood before he even had the chance to think about it. "Bloody hell," he said.

"What?"

"It's really good."

And then he was drinking, slurping like a person who'd just spent two days lost in the desert. Alex watched as a look of ecstasy spread across his friend's face. Only...

"Holy crap!" Alex tumbled backwards off his chair, overturning it. They hit the floor together with a loud clatter.

In an instant, Rupert was in the room, stake brandished and at the ready. Alex had insisted on going in to see Randy alone ("If I don't do it now, then I'll never be able to stay alone in a room with him again") and Rupert had allowed it, but still refused to move more than four feet away from the door. "What's wrong?" he yelled now, cursing himself for permitting even that much.

"I don't know!" said the very confused vampire lying in Randy's bed.

Oh.

Rupert let the stake fall to his side. "Alex, get up off the floor," he said tiredly. "And Randy? Please try to revert back to your human features. I believe you've given Alex quite a shock."

"What?" Randy raised a tentative hand to his face. To his surprise, the bumps and ridges he found there did not particularly disgust him. Still, he pushed them away with, thankfully, relative ease. "Ooops," he said. "Sorry."

"S okay," Alex said, straightening the chair. He seemed mildly embarrassed. "I was just...surprised."

"How ugly is it?"

Alex turned to Rupert. "Do I have to answer that?"

"No."

"I think this is a case of don't ask, don't tell, buddy."

"Great. Now I'm never going to get a date."

Alex grinned. "And that's different *how*?"

Silently, Rupert slipped away, assured that everything was once again as right in the world as it was going to get.

*************

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Randy?" Rupert asked.

Randy straightened his shoulders and said, in a voice that conveyed much more assurance than he felt, "Yes."

"Joan, are you sure you're ready?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, suddenly *this* patrol is making me all quakey in the knees. Of course I'm ready."

Rupert took off his glasses and began to polish them, and Randy once again restrained from smirking over the fact that he no longer had to wear any. At least being a vampire had the advantage of making you a lot cooler - and not just in the body temperature sense.

"Joan, this really is a serious matter. We have no way of knowing how Randy will react around other vampires. It's true that he could be quite an asset thanks to his enhanced strength, but we have no idea if watching other vampires hunt could cause him to revert to his, um, more basic nature..."

"Bloody hell, I'm standing right here," Randy said, irritably. "Thanks for all the trust, Dad."

"Son, I'm just concerned..."

"Joan, can we go?"

She handed him a stake. "Ready when you are, Randy."

"I'm ready."

Together, they headed off into the night.

*************

"This is so cool!" Randy shouted, as he punched an attacking vampire in the jaw without having to contend with the vibrating aftershocks such an action used to send racing up his arm. "I'm kickin' arse, Joan!"

"You've been watching too many testosterone flicks, Randy!" came her shouted reply, slightly muffled by vampire dust. "And when did you start talking like that?"

He snorted, finishing off his opponent with one perfectly timed stabbing motion. He ran to catch up with Joan.

"I thought it would piss off my Dad. What do you think?"

"Why don't you just get a nose ring? Or bleach your hair?"

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea...Duck!"

Joan ducked and Randy let fly with a stake, which a moment later found its new home in a very surprised vampire's chest. She straightened up and couldn't help but grin at the elated expression on his face.

"How come you never told me patrol was this much fun?"

Her expression turned solemn for a moment, remembering how all of this had started out: with an innocent little patrol. Randy had died because of it. And yet, here they were, patrolling together as if nothing had happened, besides Randy getting a little martial arts training. So things were scary sometimes, and her friend was now stuck on a blood-and-no-sun diet for eternity, but Joan couldn't honestly say that she was completely saddened by the way things had turned out.

"It's not, always," she said, seriously. "Lately, though," and her face broke into a little half-grin, "it's been quite a ride."

They shared a look, and Joan suddenly felt her face grow hot. Part of her wanted to reach over and touch him, just to make sure that he was real, but she resisted the impulse. Those were feelings for another time. Right now, they had a job to do.

She turned to him, the smile spreading from her lips to cover her entire face. "Ready for some more action, Randy?"

"Always, Joan."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

END


End file.
